Pairing: Harry Potter x Neloth
AN: This pairing came to me on a whim, and it should be obvious Harry isn't going to be in-character. Neloth might become psychotic if I continue this too... Anyways, I own neither fandom's source material and am sadly making no profits. Nothing will be graphic slash in this story beyond kissing; the focus is more on Harry's psychology.
Harry smiled, his eyesight lazily strolling across the wizard whose chambers he currently occupied. Perhaps occupied was too passive a word, but the young wizard still had some sense of shame. Or, he still knew how to fake shame and play that innocent card. Neloth had corrupted him.
Voldemort, despite all the frequent attempts upon Harry's life, could never have rendered the boy into this current state of submission. Harry was sprawled on Neloth's bed, crossing his legs at the ankles with his arms crossed behind his head, as he watched the Dunmer pace around the room. The elder wizard was in some trance-like state, lost in through of experiments and spellwork. Harry almost didn't want to know what Neloth was thinking of, it could be depraved spells that could create monstrous, stitched creatures to torment his enemies...or something silly. Harry was continuously asked of his former life, even offering his memories to be viewed, so it wasn't a stretch to think that Neloth was thinking of...teddy bears. The Dunmer would dream of doing something cute with them: maybe enlarging them into giant attack weapons, probably with bloody steel fangs. Those teddy bears would be practically Santa-worthy.
Rita Skeeter would do anything to get a photograph of him now. She wouldn't even pretend to hide behind her journalistic integrity; instead, she would pounce animal-like, ripping at the throats of anyone who tried getting the story before her.
Despite her dedication to...journalism, there wasn't much of a concrete story to tell. Harry didn't even need to care about Rita. She was probably dead, squashed by the Death Eaters for being the pesky beetle she was. On the other hand, she could still live, painting sordid canvases of lies commissioned by a Death Eater-controlled government.
Either way, his friends were most likely dead.
Yet Harry could no longer bring himself to care. He wasn't apart of that world anymore. Even if the precise magic that brought him here was both unknowable to himself and the great Neloth, he was still apathetic to the concerns of his past.
"Quit pacing," Harry innocently eyed Neloth, playing every bit of his former Golden Boy charm for the Dunmer. "I've made your tea."
"Really?" Neloth drew out his vowels, masking his emotions as he stared at the younger wizard. "I doubt someone with the cooking ability of a blinded guar could manage that."
Harry had once hated Neloth, cursing every inch of the Dumner's arrogance that too easily called to mind Snape. Whereas Snape was hostile to the point of being tyrannical, Neloth's hubris hid his humor. The Dunmer could be playful.
"I had to use non-traditional means to serve it."
"I wouldn't be surprised to hear you signed pacts with all the Daedra Lords just to summon a mere cup of tea."
"Of course, nothing quite makes a young, impressionable wizard say yes to damnation like the tentacles of Hermaeus Mora. Give me the secret to make canis root tea…and not something practical like eternal life, enslavement of all mortals…"
"Where is this tea?" Neloth no longer spoke with bite, but with a genuine curiosity. Harry took pleasure in these moments, the constant build-up and trading of wit just to see a mere crack in the older wizard's perpetual arrogance.
Harry grinned, breaking the innocent look he was affecting. Sometimes, no words needed to be spoken. The young wizard was still hormonal, obsessed with any physical contact, and unashamed of demanding Neloth to give in. Under Neloth's tutelage, Harry's innocence had broken. He hadn't just learned magic, but how to emulate the Dunmer. Neloth's presence had matured him, but at the same time, given him adult desires.
Neloth swiftly sat on top of Harry, possessively clasping the teen's chin with his right hand as he demanded a kiss. No spell needed to be casted, no battle was fought, Harry just opened willingly.
Harry had learnt many new spells that Dumbledore would have forbidden, but despite a desire to impress Neloth, he choose simplicity. The Golden Boy's mouth permanently tasted like canis root tea.
Neloth was domineering, but with a slight gentleness for Harry. The Dumber could be overbearing, but he treated the younger wizard nothing like how he acted towards the other humans that inhabited Solstheim.
Any wizard as old as the Dumner had a right to look down upon the mortals around him. The Nords of the island were mere children, brutally bashing each other's brains in the tired names of honor and heroics. Their struggles were petty, their lives were pettier, and they could do nothing but breed in an endless, predictable cycle. Neloth only needed to concern himself with whatever fleeting name could be useful to him.
Harry was not just another mortal to Neloth. The young wizard, once touted as the savior of the Wizarding world, was a personal experiment for the Dunmer. Through some unstable and unknowable magic to Harry, the older wizard had called him into this world.
Despite his interest in Neloth, Harry had not concerned himself with leaving Tel Mithryn. The Nords of the island were in many ways like the wizards of his former world. He just couldn't care for the lives of beasts.
Neloth had saved him from the forced role of a hero. There were no monsters to kill, no life-threatening lessons designed by Dumbledore. Harry didn't even have to concern himself with cooking his own food. That was Ulves' purpose.
Harry was surprised that he even remembered Ulves' name. There would be many cooks in Tel Mithryn. In time, they would all blend together in a sea of meaningless names. They would all be Ulves. Even the memories of his friends would blur into nameless faces. Hermione, nosey and with hair that rivaled Hagrid's during her first year, would eventually be forgotten. The memory of her would dissolve, easing away like the waves that surrounded Solstheim.
Neloth offered him immortality. Even thought Harry knew not what magic the older wizard had used, his life was now defined by one constant: Neloth.
Harry ceased his thoughts, throwing himself more into his kiss with the elder wizard. He had no reason to ponder his current situation, question its ridiculousness, or chase any dizzy daydream of independence.
Even though alternating between slow, almost stroll-like trails of a kiss and wild bouts of heat, Harry's thoughts returned once again to his past. He could forget the names of Ron and Hermione, and even the face of his beloved godfather. His mind turned not to thoughts of how nice and strong their friendships had once been, but to the instance that brought him here.
Although Harry was apathetic, cruel, and obsessed with a certain Dunmer, he was suspicious when he thought of the Department of Mysteries and falling into the Veil.
His situation, from suddenly abandoning a life of being molded into killing a terrorist wizard to now living as a houseboy for a crazed Dunmer would have disturbed his former self. Harry felt a slight headache, slowly creeping into a sharper pain that didn't go settle down despite having Neloth's tender kisses.
Falling into the Veil was too convenient, to the point of being contrived. It seemed less like a strange, obscure spell done by Neloth and more the work of a crazed writer, suddenly taking control over Harry's life.
Neloth shouldn't be trusted, but Harry's body, his very nerves, surged and boiled in the man's presence. Harry felt like but a doll, crudely constructed with an overbearing level of emotion solely for Neloth's enjoyment.
He didn't know if that was horrifying, or perhaps, the greatest thing that had ever happened in his life. Harry no longer had goals, nor did he reach for any sort of Heaven. Neloth lived in Tel Mithryn; Harry was content to merely live in his presence.
AN: Anyways, I'm debating about whether to make this a two or three-shot. Should a chapter solely focus/re-hash the typical falling through the Veil story? If I do, I hope to deconstruct that story. Hint hint, Harry might not have the best memory of the situation...